


loved you since I knew you

by Legendaerie, lightbenderlin



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Felix really likes Sylvain's tits, Grinding, In This House We Use Condoms For Hookups, LIGHT body worship, Light Temperature Play, M/M, New Year's Eve, Post-Coital Cuddling, Sex In Front Of A Window, Sylvain really likes Felix's butt, pissing off your ex, slight exhibitionism, this is horny from the moment Sylvain appears and I'm not sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:14:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28599015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Legendaerie/pseuds/Legendaerie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightbenderlin/pseuds/lightbenderlin
Summary: "I usually have to work a lot harder for a New Year's kiss," the stranger murmurs. "Any reason the most beautiful man in the room wants to trade me his company for just a kiss, or did this year finally throw me a little luck on it's way out?"The flattery warms him as much as the alcohol. "You're the only guy here prettier than my ex and I wanna piss him off."---Dragged to a New Year's Eve party by his best friend, Felix ends up crossing paths with his ex. Still upset by their breakup, Felix lies about his new boyfriend. A lie turns into an elaborate charade when Felix confesses his trouble to the attractive actor next him at the bar who is more than willing to play the part.And maybe, play it a little too well.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 19
Kudos: 304





	loved you since I knew you

**Author's Note:**

> Saro was a blessing (and an enabler) who was absolutely instrumental in turning what I thought was going to be a quick little kiss fic into 12k of Sylvix being horny for each other from the moment they meet. 
> 
> Thank you so much for writing this with me ♡

Felix doesn't know why he's here.

Scratch that, he knows exactly why he's here. Felix is nursing a gin and tonic in a too loud bar because he still hasn't figured out how to say 'no' to Annette, even when he knows that three drinks in she's going to ditch him to hustle unsuspecting frat boys at pool. He doesn't blame her; she's small and bubbly and looks barely old enough to be in the bar at all. There are always new frat boys to fool.

Felix, on the other hand, has a look sharp enough to cut glass and keep the seats on either side of him empty despite the crowd. Even the glittery gold and silver New Year's Eve decorations don't soften his edges, though if Felix finds himself picking glitter and confetti out of his hair and clothes for three next weeks he might find some new ones. It's not Annette's predictable abandonment that's put a glower on his face either. 

It's the familiar, bubbling laughter that rises over the din of the bar. 

Felix hopes that, surrounded by a gaggle of friends and admirers on one of the bar's leather lounge sofas, Ferdinand doesn't notice him hunched over his drink at the bar. It's too cold to walk home, and too far; Annette could catch a ride with Mercedes once her shift behind the bar is over but Felix is too drunk to drive. He refuses, staunchly, to call for a rideshare. 

Just because Ferdinand broke up with him does _not_ mean Ferdinand gets to keep their old haunts in the split. Felix doesn't run away from anyone or anything, least of all his pretty prick of an ex-boyfriend. The only way Ferdinand will get him to leave is if he hauls him out of the bar himself. Which Ferdinand won't, because his sterling reputation is priority and Felix would win if it came to a brawl. Ferdinand wouldn't risk his appearance, physical and social, on the kind of scene it would cause to make Felix leave. Felix is just counting on Ferdinand not acknowledging him at all to make it through the night.

Luck has her eyes on Annette, who is currently stuffing her most recent winnings down her bra, but won’t treat _him_ half so well. To his left, a body slinks into the open space between Felix and the next stool over. 

"—And another gin and tonic, for Felix," Ferdinand rattles off, settling in on the neighboring seat like a self-satisfied parrot on a roost, and ignores Felix’s glare. "That _is_ what you're drinking, isn't it?" 

Behind the bar, Raphael looks between the pair with concern. He's made them so many drinks in the past when they came here together; happier times. Now he watches Felix, waiting for him to accept or decline the offer, and spares Ferdinand only a glance and a thinning of his lips. Felix has the absurd thought that, between Annette dating one of them and Raphael's subtle choosing of sides right now, he has taken both their favorite bartenders in the break. He knocks back the last of his drink to drown the threat of laughter and says, "I'll have another, but not on his tab." 

Raphael nods silently and sets about his work. He doesn't stick around to hear Ferdinand protest.

"Come on, Felix. I'm just being friendly," Ferdinand pouts. The glitter swiped along his cheekbones catches in the multicolored lights. "Can't we be friends?" 

"We stopped being friends when you left me for _Hubert_ ," Felix sneers. He wishes he hadn't finished his drink so quickly. It would have given him something to do with his mouth to avoid talking; or something to throw in his ex-boyfriend’s face.

"Are you still mad about that?" Ferdinand asks, incredulous and exasperated. "I should have, what? Cheated on you? Invited him to a threesome? _Talked it over_ ? We were _so_ good at that." 

"I didn't say that," Felix hisses. "I said, we're not friends." He _isn't_ mad, and he _isn't_ Ferdinand's friend. He was barely his _boyfriend_ in those last weeks anyway, for all it still stings to see Ferdinand radiant as the sun in a crowd next to Hubert von Vestra in all the places where Felix used to stand beside him. It's the irony that Ferdinand left one cold man for another with, if possible, a worse resting bitch face that pisses Felix off, he tells himself; it's not that Ferdinand was on a date with Hubert not a day after they broke up. It's not.

"And I don't think my boyfriend will appreciate me letting my ex buy me a drink." 

"So you finally got a new boyfriend. That's… good." Ferdinand's voice is tight, smile plastered with a little too much effort on his face. "Is he here? I think I should meet him. Make sure he's treating you well." 

"Fuck off," Felix enunciates. "I decide what treating me well looks like," he adds petulantly. "You don't."

"Oh is this a 'my Canadian boyfriend' thing?" Ferdinand demands, eyes lighting up in delighted suspicion. "You don't have one, do you? What's his name?" 

"He's on his way," Felix lies. Raphael returns with a tray of drinks for Ferdinand and a highball glass to slide in front of Felix. He takes it and sips, shoulders relaxing as the alcohol burns in his throat. "Don't you have a boyfriend to drink with?" he demands when Ferdinand doesn't leave immediately. "Leave me alone."

"Hubert had to return to Enbarr," Ferdinand says, hands resting on the tray without picking it up.

"Guess you're not more important than his work," Felix snipes. 

Ferdinand flinches.

"Happy New Year to you and your fake boyfriend." Ferdinand says, pulling himself together with pride and an ice in his tone he never picked up from Felix and finally leaves. 

Felix stares at the bubbles climbing the glass feeling like a fool. What was the point in lying, except to make himself look like an ass? He doesn't even want Ferdinand back; just wants to make Ferdinand want him for the satisfaction of denying him. To make him jealous that he gave Felix up to someone else's arms for a man who left him cold and alone for the holiday. With acquaintances and sycophants all around him and a boyfriend half the country away, Ferdinand isn't going to get his New Year's kiss.

Neither is Felix, if he's honest. Not unless his Canadian boyfriend materializes out of thin air in the next fifty minutes. Ferdinand is going to see right through his paper thin facade. 

At the end of the bar, Annette murmurs her drink order into Mercedes' ear and tucks her tip into her girlfriend’s cleavage. He can see Mercedes laugh even though he can't hear it, just like he can't see the blush on Annette's cheeks beneath her makeup but he knows it's there when Mercedes kisses the tip of her nose and moves away to get her drink. 

By the time Felix's glass is empty again, someone else has braved his unfriendly demeanor and actually _taken_ the seat on his left. In its taking, the stranger has moved the barstool closer to Felix, close enough that he can feel the winter chill still clinging to his neighbor's clothes. God, he's too drunk for this crowded bar. He should have dropped Annette off and bought himself a bottle of gin to drink in the comfort of his own quiet living room. Maybe he can convince his unwanted company to piss off.

Felix turns to do just that.

The man who's taken the seat beside him is dressed for the holiday in black and white and gold. His dress shirt is some thin, slinky white material, and it clings to the breadth of his shoulders as he shifts forward in his seat to place his order with Raphael. The ratio from his shoulders to his hips is sharp enough that as tight as fabric is across his chest, it billows loose before it tucks into his slacks. He smiles as he hands Raphael a credit card to open a tab, a flash of straight white teeth that draw Felix to look at his face. He's got a hint of makeup: eyeliner smudged near his lashes and a dusting of glitter that is less noticeable than the dusting of freckles across his nose. His hair turns scarlet and flashes gold under the lights. It takes Felix too long to realize the gold is strands of tinsel, threaded in his hair like the teenage girls Felix sees at the mall, and by then the beautiful stranger has caught him staring. The lights make his brown eyes golden too.

Felix scowls and can't remember what he turned around for. The stranger levels that smile at him now and Felix feels starstruck in its brilliance.

"Sorry, is this seat taken?" The stranger calls, leaning forward to make himself heard. "I'll get my drink and move on if you're waiting for someone."

Through the haze of drink, Felix can see Ferdinand watching from across the room. It's a testimony to his BAC that Felix completely rewrites his plan to tell the stranger to piss off. He leans forward instead, thinking of Annette talking to Mercedes, and says, "You can stay there if you kiss me at midnight." He only slurs the words a little bit.

The stranger chuckles, a low throaty sound and it's unfair that his laugh is as sexy as his face. "I usually have to work a lot harder for a New Year's kiss," he murmurs. "Any reason the most beautiful man in the room wants to trade me his company for just a kiss, or did this year finally throw me a little luck on it's way out?"

The flattery warms him as much as the alcohol. "You're the only guy here prettier than my ex and I wanna piss him off." 

The stranger laughs again. "You're not gonna get me beat up are you, beautiful? Because this is a new shirt and I'd _really_ like to not start the new year in lockup after a bar fight again." 

"He wouldn't," Felix says automatically, and his loose tongue continues, "I just don't want to admit I lied about my new boyfriend."

If his laugh was unfair, it's absolutely criminal the way this man's face lights up at the revelation. " _Oh_ , you don't just need a midnight kiss, you need an _actor_ . And lucky for you," he boasts, with a coy flip of his hair, "I am the _perfect_ man for the job. How do you want me? Flirty asshole? Head over heels for you? Want me jealous for your attention? I have an Oscar in playing fake boyfriend, you know." The stranger leans in as he speaks, angling toward Felix like they've known each other for years. 

Felix scoffs. "Liar." 

"Alright, no Oscars yet," the man agrees. "But I can do smitten boyfriend just fine, sweetheart." He tucks a fallen strand of hair behind Felix's ear as he speaks, his touch still cold from the night outside. Felix shivers.

"Don't call me sweetheart," he snaps. 

"What _should_ I call you?"

"Felix," he answers. "My name is Felix."

"Okay, Felix," the stranger says, his name rolling smooth off his tongue, all caramel and cream. "I'm Sylvain. And since I'm your doting boyfriend for the night," Sylvain continues, "can I buy you another drink?"

He really should say no. This is a stupid plan. This is a stupid plan and there's no way it will fool anyone in the room, least of all Ferdinand. He is going to get up from the bar and call an Uber and go home to wallow in shame and self loathing until the new year. 

He says, "Gin and tonic."

Sylvain makes a face. "Come on, at least get something that tastes good." Sylvain's own drink arrives, a drink the color of his hair garnished with a slice of orange. 

"The point of alcohol is to get drunk, it doesn't matter what it tastes like.” Felix frowns at the drink as Sylvain plucks the fruit off the rim. "What the hell are _you_ having?" 

Sylvain grins. "Sex on the Beach." Figures. It suits him, somehow. "You get drunk faster if you can't taste the alcohol anyway. Come on! Try something new, Felix."

"I don't know fucking anything about cocktails," Felix mumbles. 

"Ooo, wonderful, fake boyfriends should definitely know that," Sylvain croons. "Anything I should know that makes you sick?"

Felix shrugs. "I don't like sweet things."

"Except for me, right?" Sylvain has the audacity to _wink_. 

Felix takes a breath. He can still feel Ferdinand watching, and he may as well commit to the bit. He kicks a leg out to hook his ankle around Sylvain's and relaxes his face into a semblance of a smile. "Except for you," he says. 

Sylvain jerks in surprise at the contact, but recovers immediately. Beaming, he flags down Raphael again and says, "Can you make up a Singapore Sling for Felix here? On my tab." 

Raphael flicks his eyes to Felix, waiting once again for approval or denial. Stiffly, Felix nods. He always says he's going to change things up in the new year. May as well start a little early. Or very late.

Sylvain leans in again. "Mind if I ask who this performance is for?" 

"Redhead on the couch." 

To his credit, Sylvain isn't obvious about the way he glances over. He sips on his drink and if Felix hadn't just pointed him in Ferdinand's direction, he would have believed Sylvain was watching the bright ad that just popped up on the television in the corner of the lounge. He whistles low. "Well sweetheart, got a thing for gingers, huh?"

Felix kicks him lightly on the shin. Sylvain yelps and pouts like it hurt. "So what if I do?" Felix says, raising his chin. "And I told you, don't call me sweetheart." 

"Got it, got it." Sylvain laughs, and Felix lets himself drift a little closer. _Make it look real_ , he reminds himself. 

Then his drink arrives, red like candy and Sylvain's hair. "I told you I don't like sweet things," he says reproachfully.

"It's not _sweet_ ," Sylvain insists. "It's fruity. Tart."

"What did you call me?"

"I didn't mean it like--" Sylvain's hurried apology dies in his mouth when he notices Felix is smiling at him around poorly contained laughter. He doesn't hold it back when Sylvain looks at him aghast and says, "You _tease._ I meant the way the drink tastes, but I take it back you are a tart, Felix. Just try the damn drink already." 

Trying to stifle his giggles (a particularly difficult task when his head feels sparkling like the decorations and the drinks), Felix raises the glass to his lips. It's sweeter than the drinks he's grown used to, but not as candy-sweet as he feared from its color. Sweet like fruit juice, like the smile Sylvain gives him for trying it, and more refreshing than the spiked tonic water he's been drinking all night. He takes a swallow instead of a sip. Sylvain was right about that too; it was easier to drink when the alcohol didn't burn. 

"It's good," Felix mumbles.

"Told you so." Sylvain sounds like he has to force the words out. He clears his throat. "So, tell me about yourself, Felix. Where are you from? What do you do?"

Felix leans on the bar, still sipping the bright concoction Sylvain bought him. "Why?"

He tilts his head toward the lounge. "In case tall, fair, and ginger over there comes to quiz me on our relationship. When did we start dating, by the way?"

Felix hadn't considered that a possibility, but suddenly Ferdinand's offer to _make sure he's treating you right_ rings in his ears. "Recently," he says. "Just before Christmas or something. Too close to the holidays to have mentioned you to my family."

"Right," Sylvain says agreeably. "You have a big family?" 

"Just my dad and my brother," Felix answers. "They still live in Fhirdiad, where I grew up."

"Oh, me too. I couldn't get out of there fast enough," Sylvain adds. "I think my family still lives there. I haven't spoken to them in years though, so who knows." 

"Bad blood?"

"Something like that." Sylvain deflects deeper questioning with a smile. "I work for a small theater in town though, so I spent the holidays with them. Got all the same fun without the shitty opinions."

"At a movie theater?" Felix can't keep the disbelief from his tone.

"No a _live_ theater, thank you very much," Sylvain retorts. He turns in his seat so his knees knock Felix's and Felix is abruptly aware that Sylvain has very long legs in very tight slacks. "You're the presence of a _certified_ actor, you know. I should be charging you." 

Felix tries not to think too hard about what else is under those slacks as he lets a hand drop familiarly to Sylvain's knee. Sylvain isn't the only one who could act, he thinks to himself. "I'll have to buy your next drink, then." 

"It's a joke, Fe." Sylvain ducks his head and Felix once again gets an eyeful of the golden tinsel woven in his hair. "I'm gonna get to kiss you at midnight, that's enough."

"You can kiss me before that," Felix blurts out. Sylvain laughs loudly, as if Felix had told the funniest joke. 

"Nah, you should finish that and then sober up a bit," Sylvain says. He leans close enough that Felix can feel his lips on his ear when Sylvain whispers, "I'll play your boyfriend for a bit and if you still wanna kiss me when you're less drunk, I'll give your ex a _reason_ to be jealous." It feels like a promise, like a threat, and Felix's nerves come alive in anticipation of seeing it play out. He swallows the last of his drink in a few hurried gulps. It goes down easy, and Felix isn't unaware of the way Sylvain watches him lick the last traces of it off his lips. 

"Still think you should let me buy you a drink, _babe_ ," Felix says with intention. "It's New Year's. Get on my level."

"Oh, you're a pushy drunk. Okay, okay." He downs his drink too, the resigned look on his face clear that he wanted to savor it. He waves down Raphael again. "Half a dozen tequila shots, please," Sylvain requests, "and water for him."

Felix sips on the glass of water while Raphael lines up the shots in front of Sylvain. "So what else is gonna be on the boyfriend quiz?" Sylvain asks. 

Felix shrugs unhelpfully. He still isn't convinced there _will_ be one, but Ferdinand did always have a penchant for nosiness disguised as propriety. 

"How about this, then," Sylvain proposes, tapping the rim of a shot glass. "Every question you answer, I'll take a shot."

"You don't think I'm gonna get quizzed?"

"I'll answer it too, then." He shakes salt into his palm and lifts a shot between them. "Both my parents are alive and well in Fhirdiad as far as I know. I have a half brother, but even my parents don't talk to him. You have a brother?"

"Glenn," Felix answers. He's glad to start here, not even alcohol able to dampen his pride in his older brother. "He's a med student in Fhirdiad. Working on his doctorate in Cardiology. My father is a lawyer." 

Sylvain licks the salt from his palm and swallows the shot. "God, the first shot always tastes terrible. Okay, _wow_ , you have a very accomplished family. Uh… what do you like to do for fun? Hobbies? I play video games, mostly. I am a _very good_ McCree main."

Felix snorts. "I'll believe that when I see it, cowboy." 

"Oh and who do _you_ main, smartass?"

"Genji."

Sylvain stares at him. "You know, I'm not even fucking surprised." The second shot follows the first: salt, tequila, lime. Sylvain doesn't complain about the taste this time. Felix raises his water to his lips with a hand that only wobbles a little. "Alright gamer, anything else you play? I wanna know what servers to avoid so you don't kick my ass."

"That's not very boyfriendly of you," Felix complains. "Shouldn't you want to play with me? I have a paladin in WoW. Been playing through the new patch."

Sylvain squints at him. "Alliance or Horde?"

"Horde." As if it was a question. 

Right answer though. Sylvain downs another shot and lifts the fourth. "Alright, next: college. I was a musical theater major, specialty in dance but I sing well enough too. I'm an actor with the Mittelfrank Players right now. We just closed _A Christmas Carol_ at the end of last week. What do you do?"

Felix stares at the shot glass. "I work as mall security. Second shift," he answers, tone tempered from his previously good spirits. "I have a degree in History, but I'm not doing anything with it."

Sylvain's smile disappears behind his palm as he licks the salt off then throws back the shot. He pops a wedge of lime in his mouth and asks around it, "Don't history majors go into politics and crap? Plenty for you to do."

Felix gives him a withering look. "I'm not going to be a _politician_ ," he seethes over his water cup. "I just like the weapons we used to use, the fighting styles. Ancient military history is more interesting than the crap governments call warfare these days. There's no _finesse_ , no _art_ in it."

Laughing around a lime proves too difficult for Sylvain. He coughs and spits it into a napkin so he can catch his breath. "You sound like our fight choreographer," he says. "Shamir is so serious about it too. 'Swordplay is _dance_ ,' she says, and trust me I have spent years in dance classes. She is _right_." 

"You any good with a sword?" 

"I mean, I can fence on stage well enough," Sylvain shrugs. "Not sure how I'll hold up to your historical critique." 

"You should show me sometime," he says, genuine. Sylvain answers by pushing the water cup closer to him pointedly. "Oh, I'm not _that_ drunk," he complains, and promptly fumbles the cup and spills water and ice across the bar and his lap. 

Sylvain grabs a fistful of napkins and starts shepherding the ice away from Felix. Mercedes appears as if summoned; Briskly and wordlessly, she sweeps the ice behind the counter and hands Felix a dry towel while she wipes the counter. He scrubs clumsily at his clothes, muttering invectives all the while. 

Sylvain takes the towel from him and appears to think nothing of slipping his hand under Felix's shirt to help press the water out of it. "'Not that drunk,' huh?" He teases. 

At the contact, a thought bubbles up; _I want those hands all over me._ To distract himself, Felix swipes his hand through the water on the bartop to flick it at Sylvain. "You're the one who moved the cup," he mumbles. "Damnit."

"Maybe you need to walk it off, hm?"

"You're an idiot if you think I'm going outside like this," Felix accuses. "I'm not going out there to fucking freeze."

"Wouldn't dream of it, sw--Felix." He doesn't miss the aborted syllable of the pet name, nor the way Sylvain catches himself and course-corrects to Felix's name. He sets the towel aside, one hand still tenderly on Felix's waist beneath his shirt, like Sylvain forgot it there. 

"I was thinking more along the lines of a walk to the dance floor," he continues in Felix's ear, "where it's nice, and warm, and you'll dry off in no time." The teeth on his earlobe are a surprise. He steadies himself with a grip on Sylvain's knee.

"I can't dance," Felix admits. 

"That's another one for the pop quiz." Sylvain presses his lips to Felix’s jaw, too brief and too pleasant at once, then downs his last two shots without chaser or preamble. He slides off the barstool, and Felix isn't fast enough to pull his hand away. It slides up Sylvain's leg, the smooth fabric of his slacks, and only a moment of concentrated effort ensures it settles on the outside of his thigh and not the inside. 

Even when Felix is perched on the tall stool, Sylvain has an extra inch or two on him. It's horribly apparent when he's standing between Felix's knees and crooning softly, "You don't need to know how to dance. I'll tell you just what to do."

Felix is sobering up with remarkable speed. He would have been just fine getting down off the barstool on his own. He wouldn't even have stumbled, probably. Sylvain has both his hands on Felix's waist now though, and it's all Felix can do to cling to his (stupid, wide, sexy) shoulders as in one smooth motion he lifts Felix off his perch and sets him down gently on the floor. 

"Don't want you to trip," Sylvain says, and flashes that smile. Felix stares stupidly at him, feeling the heat creep up to his ears. Sylvain leads him to the dancefloor and Felix can't help but think if Sylvain is going to keep doing things like that, his clothes are going to be the least of his _wet_ problems. 

On the edge of the tile, Sylvain turns to him and grins. "Oh! Come on, I love this song."

Felix thinks he may have heard it before, once or twice on the radio, at a lower volume and with less electronic beats overlaid. He has to cling to Sylvain's hand, damp with water or sweat or maybe spit from his tequila shots, for fear of losing him in the throng of bodies. Half the club seems to love this song too. Felix just hopes the bass beat hides the satisfied spike in his pulse when he catches Ferdinand craning to find them in the crowd; then he's left chest to chest with Sylvain and his pulse is climbing still. Maybe he can blame it on the alcohol. Maybe Sylvain is too tipsy now to notice. 

Not likely. Sylvain is too damn composed, Felix thinks. There's not a waver in his step as he finds them space on the dance floor. Sylvain puts Felix's hands on his hips, where that lovely soft fabric disappears into his pants, and his voice is steady as he whispers, "Just move with me."

It's easier than Felix remembers. Ferdinand had liked to dance at clubs, too, but Ferdinand had liked to dance alone, the center of attention, and Felix had been fine leaving him to it. Sylvain keeps him close. He murmurs encouragement and soft commands on humid breath against Felix's skin. His hands stay settled on Felix's waist, bleeding heat from his palms through the thin fabric to Felix's skin. Felix can't stop thinking about the strength in them, not when those hands subtly push him to and fro, following the moves Sylvain makes across the floor. One song, then another. Another. Sylvain keeps his hands chastely where they are and Felix wants to scream; _they're in a nightclub!_ There are a dozen more couples around them with hands in far more inappropriate places, and Felix is hardly wont to bite his hand off for the minor infraction of _feeling him up_ _a little_. 

The crowd parts, encircling some lone dancers. Felix wonders, distantly, if Ferdinand is one of them. Sylvain maneuvers them away from the dance battle, but still looks curiously between the bodies for the dancers. Felix is familiar with that sort of look. "You can go show off," Felix says, with only a hint of glumness. He has to stand on tiptoe and use his leverage on Sylvain's hips to balance to say it without shouting. Sylvain's attention snaps back to him. "I'll wait for you out here."

"But I want to dance with _you_ ," he answers. A sudden burst of cheers draws Felix's eyes to the circle. He can't see past the crowd, he doesn't know what move prompted the outburst. When he turns back, Sylvain is still looking it at him with a soft smile. 

Felix swallows. Ferdinand would have left him there, taken at his word that waiting was fine. That he could go alone. That Felix didn't want to dance. Sylvain hasn't looked away. 

"Think we could do that?" Felix asks despite himself, nodding toward the circle. It was never that he didn't want to dance with Ferdinand. He just didn't know how.

"After a dance lesson or two, maybe."

Felix huffs and rests his spinning head against Sylvain's chest. Unfair that Sylvain was tall, and beautiful, and could fake caring for Felix better than Ferdinand ever had even when Felix thought they were in love. Even when Ferdinand couldn't keep his hands off Felix and the press of bodies around them had been, at least, an excuse for Felix to touch him far more than he would allow in the open. Unfair, that Sylvain wouldn't touch him even a little bit. 

Felix presses his mouth experimentally to the bare skin of Sylvain's neck, pushing boundaries before his liquid courage leaves him with nothing but a headache. Sylvain offers a shaky sigh, and his hands tremble against Felix's waist, but he offers no complaint, no refusal. The swipe of his tongue against Sylvain's skin puts a hitch in Sylvain's breath. His skin tastes like sweat and the bitter alcoholic tang of cologne. Felix is pretty sure there's glitter in his mouth, but he supposes there's nothing to be done about it now. 

He's also pretty sure a mouthful of glitter is worth the way Sylvain strokes Felix's hair back from his face and murmurs Felix's name.

Sylvain doesn't push him away, not even when Felix slides one hand into the back pocket of Sylvain's pants. Nothing so obscene as groping him, justthe presence of his hand like Sylvain's ever-tightening grip on his waist, oozing warmth through fabric to the skin below. If Felix hopes Sylvain remembers the heat of his touch well into the new year, well, that's between Felix and God. 

The music slows and Felix reluctantly takes his hand out of Sylvain's pocket. The DJ croons the time as one song bleeds into the next and suddenly Sylvain turns him around and puts Felix's arms around his neck. "Leave your hands here until I say, okay?"

Felix nods dizzily. Maybe he is still drunk, because the alcohol, certainly, is the cause of his dizziness. The sudden, involuntary vision of those words and gentle handling repeated for a much more _horizontal_ dance has nothing to do with it. Neither does Sylvain nuzzling his neck, which Felix bares to him eagerly. Sylvain's hands on his hips are no longer a nuisance but an anchor.

"Think he can see us well enough?"

Felix casts his gaze out and finds Ferdinand easily. Ferdinand, with his hand around a champagne flute and his face unreadable in the strange light, who is still unmistakably looking directly at them. Ferdinand, who dumped him over text message for a man whose only apparent advantage over Felix was his height. Felix slides his hands into Sylvain's hair and savors the shiver it puts in the other man's spine. He turns his head to put his lips against Sylvain's jaw. 

"He sees us."

“Good. I’m a little bit of an exhibitionist, myself,” and smoothes his hands up Felix’s sides as the previous song ends. “Keep that in mind for the quiz.”

Felix doubts he’ll ask, since Ferdinand is a little obsessed with propriety and social norms, but as the next song starts he can’t help but pursue the thought;

“Have we ever done that?”

Sylvain hums into Felix’s shoulder. “Maybe.”

Over the sound of his own racing pulse, Felix whispers, “How would we have done it? In case he asks.”

The next song begins, a low throbbing beat, as Sylvain starts to move against Felix with sinuous, seductive precision. “We might have,” Sylvain murmurs, the pitch of his voice low and smooth like molasses, sweet against the salt of his sweat still on Felix’s tongue. “If you’d have let me, I would have fucked you in front of a mirror for sure. Windows open on a warm day so the whole street could hear you. Maybe even press you up against the glass. ”

Felix swallows, his eyes threatening to flutter shut as the picture forms in his mind. “I might have,” he says, just to be coy about it. “If you made it good for me.”

“I did,” so close he feels Sylvain’s lips form the words against his skin. “I would,” as his large hands settle on Felix’s hips again and his fingers splay across his ass. “I will,” and a little nip of teeth against his skin before Sylvain grinds against him with an effortless roll of his hips.

Felix doesn’t know how to dance; he knows the concepts but not quite how to make it graceful, make it effortless and fun. Ferdinand mentioned how he always scowled while he danced, but that was because he had to think about what he was doing. Here and now, with Sylvain guiding him through the motions, he doesn’t have to think. Couldn’t think even if he wanted to because his partner is _that good_ at what he does, melting against Felix as easy as breathing, with a carefree smile the whole time like they’ve been doing this for years.

That smile, as Sylvain adjusts to press their foreheads together; that smile isn’t one he’s seen yet tonight. It’s crooked and boyish and familiar, like bedhead on a sleepy Sunday morning.

Felix is the lucky one, to have landed such a fantastic actor for this night. In a lull between songs, the DJ calls the seven minute warning to the New Year and Felix can hear the pop of champagne corks over the murmurs of the crowd. He feels the flutter of Sylvain eyelashes against his cheek, and to hell with midnight, if he doesn't kiss Sylvain now, Felix thinks he might die.

Someone knocks into them before he can manage it, jostling the grin off Sylvain’s face. “Oh, goodness, I’m so sorry— ah, Felix, hello again.”

If he hadn’t spent months getting to know that face, Felix would have believed the interaction to be an accident. Ferdinand is blinking at them with wonder and a gentle, pleased smile as though they’re old friends and haven’t seen each other in months.

“And you must be—“ he says, addressing Sylvain with an outstretched hand.

Without prompting, Sylvain balls up his hand and knocks his knuckles against Ferdinand’s, turning the offered handshake into a sloppy fistbump and souring Ferdinand’s smile. “Busy,” he says, with yet another new expression. Less of a smile and more of a show of teeth.

“Sylvain,” Felix supplies evenly, neither a scold nor an apology. Just a fact, as certain as the jolt in his stomach. _Busy_ , Sylvain said, like a claim had been staked. For Ferdinand's benefit, and the continuation of their charade, he adds the epithet: "My boyfriend." Staking a claim of his own. 

"Yes, I remember now you mentioned he was on his way." Ferdinand is carefully neutral in tone and expression. Felix can practically see him fighting the impulse to sneer in disgust at the scene the two of them make.

He takes the pause as an opportunity to lace his fingers through Sylvain's and draw his hand to his mouth, lips brushing over his knuckles. "He takes longer getting ready to go out than Annette," Felix contributes, keeping his tone light and teasing.

Sylvain squeezes his hand, affecting a very convincing pout. "Hey, it's my first holiday with you. Don't you like me all dressed up?" He ducks in to kiss the skin just below Felix's ear and adds, loud enough for Ferdinand to hear, "Or would you rather have me _undressed_ and down on my kn--?" 

" _Ahem_." 

Felix has his bottom lip between his teeth, fighting a grin and the heady vision Sylvain had supplied to bring his attention back to the conversation. He's surprised he had already forgotten Ferdinand, whose polite smile is looking even more forced than before and whose eyes are somewhere over Sylvain’s shoulder. "Your first holiday together, how sweet. When did you start dating?" 

“The moment he saw me sword-fighting on stage,” Sylvain lies, easy as breathing. “Annette dragged him to a show I was in, the Scottish play, and he practically begged me to handle his weapon, if you know what I—“

“Yes, okay,” and Ferdinand pinches his nose. “I get it.”

He really is a professional. Felix, himself not very good at names, is surprised Sylvain came up with a cover story with Annette so quickly. Hopefully, Ferdinand doesn’t go ask her for more information. 

“I’m going to run to the restroom before midnight,” Felix lies - praying that Annette checks her phone in time to get his texted cover story - and excuses himself from the two redheads. Fuck, he does have a type, doesn’t he?

Four steps away, a hand catches his elbow.

“Hey.” Ferdinand’s expression is gentle, careful. “I am happy for you. You know that, right?”

“No you’re not,” he snorts.

“I am. He appears to be a very genuine and charming man. More… relaxed about things than I am,” and Ferdinand blushes under the low, multicolored lights, “and I think he suits you well. I never wanted you to be anything but happy, Felix. I… hope you didn’t think anything else of me.”

All at once, the alcohol he’s been drinking all night goes cold and heavy in Felix’s stomach. 

“Anyway!” Ferdinand takes a step back, glancing over his shoulder. “I’ll let you get freshened up. Happy New Year, Felix.”

And just that easily, he fades back into the crowd.

Felix is standing rooted to the spot Ferdinand left him when Sylvain weaves off the dance floor to find him. He's got another new expression: a complicated one that Felix is too miserable to parse. He feels like a royal fuckup. After a moment of hesitation, Sylvain sweeps Felix's hair out of his face. "That's way too gloomy a look for New Year's Eve, sweetheart," he says. 

Felix can't even muster the venom to tell him off for the moniker. He shakes his head and steps away. "This was a stupid plan."

Sylvain catches him with an arm around his shoulders and leads him away from the crowd. "He figured us out that quick, huh?" He asks with a self-deprecating smile.

"No, he--" Felix blows out a breath, tries to collect his scattered thoughts. "Your acting was perfect. He thinks we're the real deal." His tone falls too flat. 

Tucked under his arm, Felix can feel Sylvain deflate. "Was that… not the outcome you wanted?" Sylvain asks. 

The root of his crisis is that Felix _doesn't know_ what he wanted. An impassioned outburst. A declaration of regret. A sign that Ferdinand had at any point in the last two months had second thoughts about their break up or at least how it went down. It's pathetic to realize _he_ had been the one hung up on the end of their relationship. It's worse that the realization had been delivered by an actor too good at his profession, and so perfectly Felix's type. 

What a cruel end to the year. 

"I wasted your time," Felix says. The mounting confusion and apprehension fade from Sylvain's face when he finally answers. "I shouldn't have gotten you mixed up in this crap."

"Hey, I wouldn't say it was wasted." Sylvain leans nonchalant against the wall and aims that dazzling smile at Felix. "I showed up late to a party, and the most beautiful guy in the room asks me to kiss him before I've even had my first drink. Then he lets me sweet talk him for an hour while I pretend to be his boyfriend." 

"That's your idea of a good time?" Felix scoffs.

Sylvain shrugs. "Yeah, it could be better. I still haven't kissed him yet."

"You still _want to_ ?" Impossible. Impossible after an hour of, of _nothing_ \--of playacting a debauched deception--Sylvain would still want anything to do with him once the game was over. Felix doesn't believe it.

Sylvain laughs and it almost disappears into the drunken chorus that starts up.

_TEN_

_NINE_

"Was the flirting not obvious enough--"

_EIGHT_

"--or do I have to--"

_SEVEN_

"--try harder?" 

_SIX_

Felix stares.

_FIVE_

Sylvain moves close again, slides his fingers through the hair at the nape of Felix's neck. 

_FOUR_

He rests his forehead against Felix's and his eyes flutter closed. It's only because Sylvain is so close that Felix can hear the murmur of his name, soft as a prayer.

_THREE_

Felix doesn't dare to breathe.

_TWO_

_ONE_

Felix is the one that brings their mouths together. 

He presses as close as he can to Sylvain while the bar screams in cacophonous joy, up on his toes with his arms thrown around Sylvain's neck. The cheers and loud, drunken renditions of Auld Lang Syne and bright _pops_ from confetti filled balloons fade to background noise. Felix doesn't want to forget a moment of this kiss. Not the elated noise Sylvain makes when he initiates it. Not the salt-and-tequila taste that lingers in Sylvain's mouth from their drinking game and finds it's way into Felix's mouth on Sylvain's tongue. He especially does not want to forget the way Sylvain pushes him against the wall and slides his other hand under the hem of Felix's shirt to caress his skin and kiss him deeper. 

It feels like a kiss he waited eternity for, and Felix doesn't want it to end. 

The first time Sylvain tries to pull away, Felix pulls him back in. The second time, Sylvain doesn't pull back so much as he drags his lips away from Felix's mouth to his cheek, his jaw, his throat, drawing his breath from the humid space between them. 

"I've been waiting to do that all night," Sylvain says into Felix's skin. 

Felix peels his eyes open to see if Sylvain looks half as wrecked as he sounds. A mistake: Sylvain is radiant. Showered in gold and silver sequins from the balloons, Sylvain is looking back at Felix with that tender, familiar smile. "I told you, you didn't have to wait," Felix croaks, just as wrecked. 

Sylvain pecks him on the lips, quick, entirely too chaste, and accompanied by the gentle admonition, "You were drunk."

"Might still be." Moving disturbs the tenuous balance of the glitter in Sylvain's hair and clothes, and it falls around him like motes of light. Felix reaches out to touch his face, painted pink with a blush, just to make sure he's real. He's shedding sparkles with every movement, too. "You can't be real."

Sylvain laughs, muffled into Felix's temple. "So do I need to ask the bartender for more tequila or do I need to kiss you again?"

Kissing him again is a very good place to start, but… "You still have two questions," Felix says suddenly. "From our game. You took those last two shots and didn't ask anything." 

"Don't worry about it, Felix, that was just an excuse to--"

"I'm not worried about it," Felix says. He catches Sylvain's eye and holds that warm, brown gaze with his own. "But you can still ask," he insists. "I'll answer."

The crooked smile is back on Sylvain's face. It makes him look younger, boyish and nervous. Maybe he is nervous, because he hides his face over Felix's shoulder to say, "I live less than a block from here. The apartment is shitty, but the rent is cheap. I don't--I don't need to know where you live, not gonna ask that. But I… _do_ wanna ask… d'you wanna get out of here?"

Relief is an immediate and palpable thing, and Felix drags Sylvain in for one more kiss before he sighs, "Thought you'd never ask."

Sylvain takes Felix by the hand, beaming like the sun incarnate, and tugs him toward the exit. Felix needs little encouragement to follow. It's only when he sees Annette, perched on the bar doing her best to smear her lipstick across Mercedes' face, that he balks. 

"Hang on-- I have to-- Follow me." Felix tightens his grip on Sylvain's hand so he doesn't lose him in the crowd. When they get closer he calls, "Annette!" She pays him no mind, too engrossed in the task at hand or else she can't hear him. Fine, louder. " _Annette!_ "

Mercedes pushes her in his direction, laughing. Annette turns. "Yes, yes, happy new year, Felix!" She plants a kiss on his cheek with total lack of coordination and sways back to Mercedes, who can't stop giggling. Through the connection of their hands, Felix can feel Sylvain shake with laughter too.

" _Annette!"_

"What?" She whines.

"Let me borrow your car keys."

"What? No, you've been drinking. Mercie said she'll drive us home if we wait 'til she's done and then--"

Resigning himself to being covered in Annette's lipstick, Felix cuts her off with a hand placed gently over her mouth. He can't look her in the eye, shoulders creeping toward his ears as he tells her, "I'm not driving tonight. I want to be able to drive home in the morning. I'm leaving with someone."

Annette pulls his hand off her face and looks curiously over Felix's shoulder to the hand linked with his and beyond to the man attached to it. Sylvain waves, sounding entirely too pleased as he introduces himself, "I'm Someone." 

Annette's face lights up as she looks between them. "Oh! Okay! Yeah, of course…" Felix wants to disappear as she reaches into her shirt to unclip the keyring from her bra strap. Sylvain's entertained trembling grows more violent. Felix swipes for the keys and she lets him have them, giggling all the while. 

"Have fun, boys," Mercedes calls. 

Annette gasps for breath and chimes in, "Be safe! Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

Felix nearly walks into Sylvain in his haste to get away from his wonderful, embarrassing friends. Annette's laughter follows him out of the bar into the first freezing minutes of the new year. Felix shivers violently in the icy air, but the night is clear. No new snow, no freezing rain. Just the stars and the streetlights and Sylvain, tugging him close and kissing him one more time to the distant explosions of fireworks then mumbling into his mouth, "C'mon, it's cold."

It's a short, brisk walk to Sylvain's apartment. Sylvain keeps Felix close for the warmth that collects at every point of contact, and Felix gives in to the temptation to slide his hand beneath the hem of Sylvain's shirt. Goosebumps ripple out across Sylvain's skin with the shiver that climbs his spine. Felix wonders how much of that is the chill of his fingertips and how much is the novelty of his touch. He runs his fingers up and then back down the knobs of Sylvain's vertebrae and then, because he wants to and because he thinks Sylvain will let him, down just a little further to dip into the waistband of his slacks.

Sylvain turns left at the first intersection and guides Felix across the alley and up a rickety, frozen set of stairs. They both shiver when Sylvain separates from Felix to manage the door. Felix frowns when he shoves his hand into the mailbox mounted to the right of the doorbell and produces a key. "You keep your spare key in your mailbox?" He asks.

Sylvain shepherds Felix into a dimly lit living room. "No, I dropped my only key in the mailbox when I left for the bar. Nothing worse than being drunk and locked out of your second floor apartment, and I don't have Annette's fantastic tits to stash my keys in." He spreads his arms as if asking Felix to observe the flatness of his chest in comparison.

Felix steps in close, delighted to oblige. 

He lays his palms on the meat of Sylvain's chest, fingers splayed to encompass his pectorals. Sylvain's back hits the door with a soft sound of surprise. Felix leans in closer, up on his toes to brush his lips in tiny teasing kisses along Sylvain's jaw. He captures Sylvain's mouth and squeezes to taste the way Sylvain groans for him. 

Sylvain grabs Felix by the ass and rolls his hips up against him, an echo of their last dance with all the same seduction and none of the control. It's obvious the motion is unconscious; a hasty, desperate reaction to Felix's kiss and Felix's touch. It happens again, and again, and again, ad infinitum as Felix kneads at Sylvain's tits. 

"I dunno, I think they're pretty fantastic," Felix slurs. Sylvain readjusts his grip on Felix's rear. The dip of Sylvain's fingers between his cheeks, even hindered by cloth, leaves Felix writhing against him with a hitch in his breath and a spike in his pulse.

"More of an ass man myself," Sylvian says hoarsely. 

"I noticed." It's impossible not to sound affected by him. Felix uses what minimal leverage he has to maintain a steady grind. He leans back just enough to admire the breadth of Sylvain's chest. Just enough to stroke his hands down the taper of Sylvain's waist to where their bodies meet and--

And see, etched in Annette's cherry-red lipstick over Sylvain's heart, the staining evidence of Felix's appreciation. 

"Oh _fuck_." 

Sylvain startles, chuckles nervously. "Right, I'm used to hearing that but your tone's got me a little--oh…" He glances down, where Felix can't take his eyes off the bright red mark on Sylvain's pristine white shirt. "Fuck." 

Felix rocks back on his heels and feels his face heat in abashed horror. "Shit. _Shit_ , maybe we can get it out if we--"

Sylvain reaches behind his head and smoothly pulls the shirt off and tosses it aside. He takes Felix's hands and places them back on his chest. "You know, there are easier ways to get me out of my clothes than staining them," Sylvain purrs. 

Felix's mouth is suddenly too dry to answer, but it's fine because he's forgotten every word in the English language as his blood rushes south. He shivers, and in the warmth of the apartment it has nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with the shift of Sylvain's muscles as he skates his hands along Felix's body. Sylvain reaches beneath Felix's shirt, and Felix ducks his head to let Sylvain pull it up, over. It halts around his wrists, and one at a time, Felix frees his hands from the tangle of fabric and lays them back on Sylvain. 

"You just gonna stand there, or are you going to touch me?" Sylvain asks.

It's all the permission Felix needs to explore every bared inch of the man before him with his hands. He drags his palms down the plane of his chest, thumbs brushing over pert nipples, and savors the way it makes Sylvain sigh into Felix's hair. Sylvain's abs flutter with the quickening of his breath and Felix lets out a sigh of his own. Sylvain is _athletic_ , 'dancer' drawn out in every line of musculature and Felix just _knows_ that when he peels off those goddamn slacks Sylvain's legs are going to be the death of him. 

Well, if it's a little death, it should be fine.

Sylvain is on an expedition of his own, hands sliding up Felix's back, encouraging him to step into Sylvain's space. Felix imitates the embrace, pressing his body deliberately against Sylvain. As soon as it's within reach, Sylvain has his mouth on Felix's skin. As soon as it's within reach, Felix slips both hands into Sylvain's pockets and gropes. 

His yelp of surprise melts into a pleased groan, hummed into Felix's neck where Sylvain keeps his mouth busy. "Your ass is fantastic, too," Felix says when language returns to him. "Been thinking about it ever since that dance." 

"Just since the dance?" Sylvain murmurs. " _Fuck_ , Felix, you slid your hand up my leg at the bar and I thought I was going to _die_." He smears the revelation into Felix's skin. 

"And _then! Then_ you asked me how I'd fuck you. Right there in the middle of the club." Sylvain has one hand on Felix's ass, the other stroking the skin just above the waistband of his pants. Sylvain keeps talking. " _God_ , if your ex hadn't bumped into us… I was about ready to drag you to the bathroom and have you up against the door."

"Not the mirror?" Felix rocks forward, seeking relief for the pressure in his gut. 

"You deserve better than a shitty bathroom mirror." Felix has the warning of Sylvain's readjusted grip on the top of his thighs before Sylvain lifts him. He clings tightly to him, kicking his shoes off at the door as Sylvain walks them through the apartment as if Felix weighs nothing. Sylvain loses his shoes along the way, stumbling only a little as he toes them off, too busy slotting his mouth to Felix's to bother where he steps. 

Felix only realizes it's a studio apartment when Sylvain deposits him on a neatly made queen size bed on the other side of the room. It's a soft landing. Sylvain handles Felix so gently he doesn't even bounce against the mattress. Sylvain's grace and Felix's own non-inconsequential strength keep them glued together mouth to hips with a force not even gravity could conquer. They come apart only for Felix to move up the bed, for Sylvain to fumble in a bedside drawer to grab a box of condoms and a bottle of lube.

Felix can't keep his hands off Sylvain. Even as Sylvain reaches into the drawer, Felix moves to touch him. With impatient desperation, his fingers make quick work of Sylvain's belt and fly and he is rewarded with Sylvain's cock springing free of the confines, unrestrained by any semblance of underwear.

Felix, somehow, isn't surprised. 

He wraps his hand around the revealed length, drawing breathless explicatives from Sylvain. The lube falls near the pillow and the box of condoms spills off the bed as they drop from Sylvain's fingers. "Planning on getting lucky tonight?" Felix asks, stroking firmly.

"A guy can hope," Sylvain mutters. Felix's hand catches on metal, warm from the heat of Sylvain's body; a piercing. He moans in tandem with Sylvain, fiddling gently with the jewelry just below the head of Sylvain's cock and imagining what it will feel like inside him. However badly he wanted Sylvain before has nothing on how much Felix needs him now that he's in Sylvain's bed. 

"Sylvain--" The man pulls Felix's hand off his cock and pins him bodily to the bed, cutting him off with a kiss. Felix melts into it with a wanton sigh. He can feel Sylvain's erection against his stomach, the frenum pressed against his skin a new sensation.

"You keep playing with my jewelry like that," Sylvain growls, "'m not gonna last long enough to fuck you right." A threat, a promise, with Sylvain's dick silky upon his skin, Felix doesn't think he has ever wanted anything as much as this. He winds his legs more securely around Sylvain, holding tight with his thighs to keep him close.

"You, ah…" Felix licks his lips, finding it difficult to speak when Sylvain keeps nipping them. "I'll let you, if you make it good for me." 

Sylvain chuckles. "I told you before," he says, "I will." 

Sylvain makes quick word of divesting them both of their remaining clothes. They get tossed off the edge of the bed, lost to the rest of the room, and then Felix is laid out bare beside Sylvain, with Sylvain's large, warm hands stroking across his skin like a firebrand. Tongue unfurled in Sylvain's mouth, Felix can't get close enough. The slow grind is pleasant kindling to the arousal burning in his gut, but he wants _more_. Felix wants Sylvain all over him, inside of him. He runs a hand down Sylvain's thigh.

Sylvain's touch disappears, reaching somewhere above his head. Felix groans at its loss and holds tighter to Sylvain, fingers sure to leave their mark on his skin. Sylvain turns to look up, where his hands are reaching for--what the hell _is_ he looking for? Felix hisses, " _Sylvain_ \--"

The plastic _click_ of a cap. Oh. The lube. 

"Love it when you say my name, baby," Sylvain croons. "'M not going anywhere. Gonna stay right here and make you feel so good."

Felix knows from the first touch that it will be. The lubricant dribbles cool across the curve of his ass, dripping from Sylvain's hand and the two fingers smearing it teasingly over his hole. Sylvain kisses his mouth. His chin. Each collarbone. His sternum. Sylvain slips down through the cage of Felix's embrace on his lips and all the while his fingers press in tiny circles against Felix's body. Still not inside, still not enough.

Sylvain's shoulders slip past Felix's grasp so he buries his fingers in those thick red locks. "Sylvain!" He gasps, tugs just a little--involuntary at the nip of Sylvain's teeth on his thigh. Tugs again, purposeful. "Sylvain, more. I need more." 

His thighs are quaking, framing the vision that is Sylvain betweens his legs. His eyes flutter closed as Sylvain's breath rolls warm over his skin and finally, finally Sylvain wraps his hand around Felix's cock and swipes his thumb through the dampness collecting at the tip. 

"I'll give it to you," Sylvain promises breathlessly. "Anything you want. Everything."

Felix forgets how to breathe as one slick finger breaches him. His hips cant upward, instinctively away from the intrusion, and all it does is drive Sylvain's fist down around his cock. He throws his head back and gasps like a half-drowned thing, lungs inflating with the cool air of the room. Too bad, the air he wants to breathe is being panted into the juncture of his thighs by Sylvain. Felix forces his fingers to relax, carding them apologetically through hair he'd just yanked viciously on in that first moment of overwhelming stimulation.

He's adjusting to it. He lets his legs relax and spread and Sylvain works that finger in deeper, strokes Felix's cock nice and slow. Sylvain paints words of encouragement on Felix's thighs with lips and tongue and teeth. Felix lets him, pulls his hands away from the dogged motion of Sylvain's head and curls his fingers in the duvet. He's ready when a second finger joins the first and Sylvain moves them in counterpoint to the strokes of his other hand.

It's almost what Felix wants, riding the line between keeping his arousal at a comfortable simmer and not addressing the itch he so desperately needs scratched. Sylvain's name falls in broken syllables from Felix's lips. It's all he can manage in terms of encouragement when his hands are clutching Sylvain's sheets and Sylvain is too far to reach comfortably like this anyway. Then Sylvain crooks his fingers inside and it leaves Felix arching off the bed with a cry. 

"There it is," Sylvain murmurs. He drags himself up Felix's body, fingers dancing tantalizingly against that pressure point inside of Felix. "That good for you, Felix?"

He can't take all of this _teasing_. Felix sits up and almost loses his mind at the way his motion shifts Sylvain's touch within. It's with a wanton groan that he crashes his mouth against Sylvain's, puts his hand on Sylvain's cock and finds him wet and weeping precum. He drags his palm through it and plays with the piercing just for the way it makes Sylvain cling to him and moan. 

"Fuck me, Sylvain," Felix demands. He squeezes his fistful of dick. "Can't wait to have this in me. Gonna be amazing. Might even scream for you." Sylvain chokes, eyes eclipsed in pupil when he looks at Felix. Felix smiles, massages his thumb deliberately where he can feel the metal barbell through Sylvain's flesh. "Would you like that?"

"I--mmmmhm, oh, _fuck me_ , Felix, I'm…" Sylvain's eyes shutter closed. He takes both hands to grip Felix by the shoulders and just hold him there while Sylvain trembles and tries to right his train of thoughts. He looks so beautiful with the tinsel and the glitter still in his hair, glancing at Felix and away as if the sight of Felix alone would push him over the edge. Sylvain casts his eyes across the bed. "Condoms. We need the--"

Condoms, falling to the floor the moment Felix freed Sylvain's cock. Felix dives for them, impatient and eager. His hand seizes on a strip of foil packets and he briefly entertains the idea of working their way through the whole row of them before dawn breaks in the new day, new year. 

He almost drops them again with a yelp when Sylvain nips his buttcheek. Felix shoves himself up and twists to yell at him, but the sight of Sylvain laid out on his stomach with his lips pressed to the spot his teeth had found stills his tongue.

" _God_ ," Sylvain groans. "Knew you were gonna have an incredible ass the moment I saw you in those jeans. Shoulda just eaten you out before, damn."

Pinned beneath his stomach, Felix's dick still gives an interested twitch at the thought. Later. "Gonna look even better with your dick in me," Felix promises hoarsely. He tears one square off the strip and rises to his knees. Sylvain is already there, catching him by the shoulders and kissing him sweetly on the mouth.

He points Felix away from him, toward the head of the bed, and says into his ear, "Still don't have a mirror that deserves you, but if you still wanna let me, that window is almost as good."

Felix looks, and his breath catches. There's just enough light in the room to turn the lightless view of the alley into a mirror. Framed in peeling, white-painted wood, Felix is treated to the obscene sight of himself, naked and erect, with Sylvain's hands and mouth roving over his flushed skin. He can only imagine what it will show him when Sylvain's cock, currently leaving a damp impression in the small of his back when Sylvain grinds it between his asscheeks, finally slides in where Felix wants it most. 

"Fuck, _yes._ " 

Magic words. They earn Felix a rough kiss and rough handling until Sylvain is pressed against his back and slamming their joined hands against the glass. 

"Leave your hands here, okay?" Sylvain breathes in his ear. Felix nods, sighs. Sylvain plucks the condom from Felix's fingers and slides his hands up his arms, down his body. His touch flickers away but in contrast to the icy chill of the night Felix can feel through the window, Sylvain's warmth is a constant at his back. 

And then Sylvain's hands are back on him, coaxing an arch into his back, his legs spread a little wider. And then Sylvain is pawing at his hips, pulling them back, spreading his cheeks. 

And then Sylvain is sliding, hot and slick, inside of him. He takes his time, easing slowly into Felix with short, grinding thrusts. That's fine with Felix. Felix can feel the frenum the moment the barbell slips past the ring of muscle, and then he's lost to the sensation. It's better than he could have dreamed. 

The temperature contrast, for starters. The frosty glass in front of him, fogging around his splayed fingers and with every panted breath; and then Sylvain, radiating heat where he kneels fit against Felix's back like a puzzle piece, sheathed inside Felix's body like he belongs there. 

And he _does_. Felix rests his head against the glass and lets the chill anchor him as Sylvain comes to a slow halt, hips pressed tight to Felix's rear, filling him as deep as he can go. It's wonderful; it's terrible; it's still not enough. Felix squeezes his eyes shut and breathes, and loves the way his body adjusts to the intrusion. Loves the way Sylvain kisses his neck as he adjusts to Felix's deliciously tight heat around his cock. Sylvain is still ducked down and tasting his skin when Felix pushes away from the window and fucks back against him.

"Holy _shit_ , Felix…" Felix shifts away again and this time Sylvain pulls him back onto his cock with force. 

Felix gasps and gives himself over to the pace Sylvain sets. It is rough, demanding, and, finally, what he's been craving since the moment Sylvain laid hands on him in the club. His sweat cools and sticks to the window and it becomes the only thing keeping him from slipping down, sinking into a puddle at the head of Sylvain's bed. 

Nonsense tumbles from his lips: Sylvain's name, curses, and breathless _yeses_ mingle with wordless gasps and the lewd sound of skin sliding against skin. Sylvain isn't much more coherent, panting into Felix's shoulder and saying his name like a prayer. As soon as Felix begins to meet his frantic pace, to brace himself against the window and ride back on every thrust, Sylvain's hands are everywhere. Between his thighs, teasing his balls and ghosting over the bruises Felix knows he's going to find in the morning. Sliding over his ribs, tweaking a nipple as fingertips brush past and laying a palm over his heart. Roaming elsewhere below his navel, taking his dick in hand.

Felix flinches and his sharp swear melts into a drawn out, incoherent groan. At the addition of Sylvain's touch, Felix found his dick pressed unintentionally against the cold glass, and then immediately subsumed in the heat of Sylvain's palm. It's enough to leave him shaking, and when the icy touch to his genitals comes again he swears violently. That time was on purpose.

"Knock… knock it off," Felix hisses.

"What, not into me touchin' you?" Sylvain asks, stroking lazily as he slows his pace enough to let them speak.

"Not when you're pressing my dick to a cold window, asshole." 

He can feel it when Sylvain laughs. "Sorry. Couldn't resist, you got so tight the first time. Thought maybe you were into temperature play."

He isn't _not_ into it. There's something distinctly pleasurable about the balance of hot and cold behind and in front of him. Felix isn't sure how he feels about applying that to his dick. Isn't sure he has the brainpower to puzzle it out, not when he can feel Sylvain's piercing drag against his inner walls with every easy thrust. 

"Just shut up and fuck me," he orders, burying his flushed face in his arms. Sylvain laughs again and obligingly picks up the pace. His touch envelopes Felix again, and this time, keeps his cock well away from the frigid temperatures. It doesn't take long to bring Felix back to the edge. Sylvain is _good_ , just like he promised. Felix rolls his body back into every snap of his hips and Sylvain pumps Felix's cock like he can read his mind. 

He's _attentive_ . Sylvain pays mind to the change in Felix's breath with every touch, to the things that make Felix whimper and sigh; like the way he runs his calloused palm in circles over the tip, and the staccato " _ahs_ " that Felix breathes when he slides a finger along his slit. 

"God, look at you, Felix…" Sylvain kisses the words into the skin of his back. Felix goes pliant at the scratch of nails against his scalp, gentle and sensual until--

" _Ahn!"_

\--Sylvain's fingers tighten in his loose hair and pull. Felix's head tilts back with it, spine arching further to follow Sylvain's motion. " _Look_ ," he repeats emphatically.

Felix peels his eyes open, blinks blearily through the haze of imminent orgasm. There's just enough light in Sylvain's apartment to make the world outside the window disappear. In the frosty mirror before him, Felix sees what Sylvain sees: his whole body formed in tense lines. 

His cock, stiff and straining under Sylvain's attentions and bobbing from his own unstoppable undulations. The heave of his chest, where the single streetlight in the alley cuts through the illusion like a dim star behind his sternum, not quite bright enough to mask the reflection of the flush spreading down his neck. His hair spills over his shoulders, mussed by Sylvain's touch and dark enough to reveal in glimpses the world beyond the glass. 

His face, red with the blush of exertion and arousal, pulled next to Sylvain's by the hand in his hair. Felix can watch in the mirror the way Sylvain's eyes travel the salacious scene before them. He can watch how he unravels bit by bit with every stroke of Sylvain's hand, every thrust of Sylvain's cock. He meets Sylvain's eyes in the mirror, lips parted but he doesn't know what to say, senses overwhelmed.

He says, "I'm close."

Sylvain's reflection smiles, lopsided and satisfied, and presses a kiss to Felix's neck. "You're beautiful." Felix feels it, whispered against his skin, more than he hears it.

He _can't_ hear it, can't hear anything over the roar of his pulse in his ears as he tears his eyes away from the sight with a cry and comes. Felix feels Sylvain, still fucking him with quick shallow thrusts as orgasm rips through him, and then Sylvain goes still too, cock twitching inside Felix as his own arousal peaks. 

He pulls out quickly. Felix's short circuiting brain only half forms an opinion about that before Sylvain pulls him backward and they collapse in aheap upon Sylvain's sheets. When the trembling aftershocks of orgasm fade, Sylvain is combing his fingers through Felix's hair, gently unsnagging the tangles he put in it. It's hard to tell after just one fuck, but Felix gets the impression Sylvain is still recovering. He strokes his fingers over Sylvain's ribs.

"You alive in there?"

"Mmmmmaybe," Sylvain hums blissfully. "Might need the kiss of life, just in case." 

Felix shakes his head but kisses him anyway. One kiss turns into another, and a third; each one sensual, none of them erotic. Neither Felix nor Sylvain is ready to consider going again so soon. 

Felix rests his head on Sylvain's bicep. Almost a pity that shirt had hidden _these_ away under loose sleeves. 

Oh. "I ruined your shirt," Felix says, apropos of nothing. 

"It's fine."

"It looked like I _stabbed you_."

Sylvain laughs as he holds Felix, shaking them both in his mirth. It takes Felix by surprise when he kisses him. "I think I would let you. _God_ , Felix, the things I'd let you do to me…" 

Felix tries not to think about what those things might entail. He's been awake for nearly eighteen hours by now, and he does not need his reawakened libido overriding that well-earned exhaustion. "We should clean up," he suggests practically. 

Sylvain holds him tighter, but sighs. "Yeah, you came all over the window. I need to clean that up before it dries there forever. Stay here, I'll be right back." 

The bed is colder without Sylvain. To the distant sound of running water, Felix props himself on his elbows to see what mess he made. Cum clings in drips and splotches across quite an expanse of the glass, catching light from the lonely streetlight, carnal comets and nebulae drying and cooling on the panes. Felix beholds it with smug satisfaction. 

"Admiring your handiwork?" Sylvain asks.

"Yours as much as mine." Felix turns to look to him and catches sight of that soft, crooked smile again. He likes the way Sylvain looks like that, he decides. Like the world is simple and wonderful, even if it's no bigger than a cheap studio apartment around the corner from a bar. 

Sylvain towels Felix off first, while the cloth is still warm even if its dampness leaves him shivering; then swipes at the window until most of the mess is wiped away. He tosses it at a laundry basket (misses) and shuffles Felix around the bed until the lube and condoms are in the drawer again and Sylvain is bleeding heat into a cosy space under the blankets. 

Sylvain doesn't ask him to leave, so Felix doesn't offer. He nestles down against Sylvain's chest as the hour catches up with him.

"I still have one more question," Sylvain whispers after a while. "From our game."

Felix yawns, tries and fails to blink drowsiness from his eyes. "Ask it before I fall asleep then."

"Well…" Sylvain starts, stops. With his ear to Sylvain's chest, Felix can hear the even throb of his heartbeat falter. Sylvain continues, "Since you aren't seeing anyone… can I take you on a date, sometime?" He sounds like every vulnerable smile Felix has caught on his face tonight. 

Felix is too tired to open his eyes, but not so much that he can't nuzzle blindly until he can smile into a kiss on Sylvain's mouth and feel one bloom under his lips. "I'd like that," he sighs, and it's the truth. 

Sylvain reaches out of their pocket to switch off the light. Felix makes himself comfortable against his chest as Sylvain resettles beside him. Sighing in comfort, Felix remembers to mumble, "Happy New Year, Sylvain."

The reply comes as Felix drifts off:

"Happy New Year, Felix. Sleep well."

**Author's Note:**

> Annette gets a text in the morning from Ferdinand asking HOW in gods name did she get Felix to go out to a play with her when he never wanted to go with Ferdy. (When he finds out this is how they started dating, he's not even mad.)


End file.
